The Nice Ones
by NorthernStar
Summary: A woman's monologue about her encounters with the guys...


Disclaimer:  I don't own anything here.  But you really didn't need me to tell you that, did you?

Title:  The Nice Ones…(Or Hearts and Tight Jeans…)

Author:  NorthernStar

Rating:  PG

Summary:  A monologue…

Author's Notes:  A big thank you to Brenda Kubler for the beta.  

**The Nice Ones**

I should have known…

_Drip_, _drip_, _drip_…Sounds like a leaking tap…  Oughta get that fixed…

I should have known.  Don't get involved with the nice ones, that's what I always say.  They get under your skin.  Pretty soon you've lost focus and you're thinking wedding dresses and two point four children.  And you start to worry about them, and about the relationship, and money, and a million other things.  Nice guys…they'll be the death of you...      

Can't blame him really though.  I went in with my eyes wide open.  But then it wasn't supposed to be serious.  I didn't want anything heavy.  Ray sure as hell didn't.  We couldn't really.  We both lead complicated lives, with complicated jobs.  I'm a nurse, a career nurse.  I want to be ward sister before I'm 30.

Wanted to be…

_Drip, drip, drip…_ Now I just want Ray.

That's how we met, actually, at the hospital where I work.  Spotted him straight away; worn battered jeans snug against his skin, Lonsdale T-shirt emphasising the narrowness of his frame.  He had brought in his mate who'd been stabbed in the side.  I think Bodie - that was what Ray's friend was called - was taking it better than Ray.  I liked that straight away; wasn't often you saw a man so openly upset.  But despite that, he'd done a good patching-up job on his friend.  Couldn't have done the triage much better myself.

I lost sight of him when we turned our attention to Bodie, cleaning and stitching the wound.  When we finished, I found him again in the corridor, sipping coffee from a plastic cup. I tried to tell myself I'd just come across him by accident.  

"Your friend's going to be fine," I told him.

He looked up at me, with serious eyes.  "Never doubted it."

He hadn't seemed that sure earlier on.  So I had to ask.  It's my job, isn't it?  "What about you?"

"Me?  Fine."  He tossed the empty cup down on the table.  

I pointed to the patches of blood on his jeans. "You're bleeding."

He looked down.  "Not mine."  

I'd guessed that, but the sight still bothered me.  "I still think you should get checked over."

"Already have.  M' fine."  He took a deep breath.  "Had twelve stone between me, didn't I?"

I had no idea what he meant so I just nodded.  "You can see him if you like.  Your friend.  He's still sedated, so he won't know you're there but…"

He stood up, which seemed to pass as polite acceptance of the offer in his book.  I took him down the corridor to the small side room we'd placed his friend in. Bodie looked peaceful, which seemed to bother Ray.  He frowned as soon as he saw him, and the confidence I'd seen earlier faltered a little.

I ran obs to reassure him, and took time to record the results in Bodie's notes.

"He's stable and he's not in pain."  I told him.  Still the frown, I tried again.  "He'd be much worse if you hadn't have dressed the wound so well.  You probably saved his life."

He shot me a look of pure venom.  I flinched, even as I guessed it was not aimed at me, but at himself.  "Yeah, right…" Then the anger was gone.  "Sorry."

The apology came easily to him.  I liked that too.

"I mean it.  He has a lot to thank you for."

He looked down at his friend.  "Have a lot to thank him for…" he murmured.

I was about to ask him what he meant when a colleague stuck her head around the door and told me I was needed back in A and E.  

He was gone when I came to check on Bodie a few hours later.  I think my disappointment showed.

"You're prettier than the last one."

The question came as a surprise.  For one thing, I didn't know the patient was awake.  For another, it seemed as if someone was reading my mind before even I knew what was on it.  I must have made some sort of noise because the man in the bed chuckled.  "Nurse, that is.  Was beginning to think the place was full of battleaxes."

He tried to hit on me.  Always did from that point on.  

_Drip, drip, drip…_

I let him, never showing much interest, but trying to string him along.  I kept it up because I wanted to know about Ray.  Took a while, but I finally got the hook I was after.  "Where the hell is Ray?"  he asked.

"Your friend?  He stopped by, then he left."

Bodie looked disgusted.  "Probably gone off on one of his guilt trips."

I opened my mouth to answer but someone beat me to it.  "No, just back at base."

I could have sworn in frustration at the interruption.  A man limped into the room.  George Cowley, I later learned.  He nodded once to me and settled down on the chair by the bed.  I picked up Bodie's notes and began slowly recording his obs.

"Guilt trip?"  Cowley asked.

"Got in the way of the knife, didn't I?"  Bodie leaned forward.  "What, no grapes?"

"That much is obvious," he said. "And no.  Call it revenge for that smashed bottle of scotch."  

Bodie's face hardened.  "Turner's dead."

Cowley immediately looked at me.  "That'll be all, thank you."  

I'd never been so dismissed in all my life.  And it was so artfully done that my body responded to the command long before my mind thought of objecting.  Half way out the door I paused, and then forced myself to keep walking.  The corridor was empty of all but one man, dressed in a brown jacket, standing at the vending machine.

"I expressly stated that Turner was to be brought in alive."  The man's Scottish burr was audible through the door.

I was a nurse.  I had a right to be in the corridor, outside this door, so I stayed.  And listened.

"Well Turner never got the message did he?"  Bodie spoke sharply and then paused. When he spoke again, he was calmer.  "He pulled a knife, OK?  He would've stuck it between Ray's ribs if I hadn't-"

"Very noble I'm sure," Cowley snapped.  "Doesn't give 4.5 the right to put two holes in our prime suspect!"

"Can't believe you're wastin' your sympathy for scum like Turner!"

The man from the vending machine stopped beside me, and smiled.  The thought crossed my mind then that he was with Cowley, but in any case, it didn't matter.  I turned and walked away.  Entitled to be there or not, I didn't want to listen any more…

The rest of my shift was pretty hectic, but it kept my mind off of what I'd overheard.  When I finally finished, I thought about dropping by to see how Bodie was, but the conversation between him and Cowley had disturbed me enough that I just wanted to go home and forget all about curly-haired guys and their injured friends.  I changed my clothes in the locker room and left through the front entrance.  I didn't see Ray until I bumped into him.

"Hello again," I said.

He frowned, but I was used to people not recognising me out of the uniform and with my hair down.  "We talked earlier.  I was in-"

He nodded.  "Yeah, I remember."

Ray probably would have just carried on walking if I hadn't stopped him.  "How's your friend?"

"Yeah, just been to see him.  He's doing OK."

"That's good."  And then silence.

He turned to leave.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Something approaching a smile broke on his face.  "Yeah.  Yeah I could."

"Pub's just down the road." I said, "I could use the company."

He relaxed the moment we started walking.  The tension in his body seemed to ease, although it never disappeared.  I caught myself watching him, liking the fluidity of his movements.  His waist wasn't all that wider than mine with slender hips that I could imagine circling with my arms.  And I wondered how long his hair would be when pulled straight or hanging down wet after a shower.

"I'm Charlotte."

He smiled.  "Ray."  I liked the name.  It suited him.

Our conversation wasn't all that exciting.  He wanted to know about my job, but told me little about himself.  The only thing I did come away with was that he had both a much older and a much younger sister.  And that he'd been the only one that had been planned.  He also said he used to be a copper.  Part of me wondered if that explained what I'd overheard that morning, but at this point I just wanted to forget the whole conversation, push it from my mind as if I'd never listened to it.  

_Drip, drip, drip_… I'm very good at lying to myself.

He didn't get drunk, but I got the feeling he drank more that night than he usually did.  When I offered him a coffee, there was none of the usual 'I've pulled' arrogance in his eyes.  In fact, what I saw there, I didn't like.  It looked too much like sorrow.  I was just glad I could make it go away.

It probably would have ended there.  Good memories and maybe a wistful 'what might have been…' on both our parts. But the next day, Bodie got an infection.  Began running a temperature and vomiting.  The high dose antibiotics the doctors put him on made him sleepy and queasy and it had probably set his recovery back by a couple of weeks.  

I knew Ray was worried about him.  He wandered in and out of the hospital at funny hours, sometimes accompanied by Cowley, most times not.  From what little I had learned, I knew that knife wound was meant for Ray.  He never said and neither did Bodie, but I got the feeling that whatever had gone down had been bad judgement, maybe even a mistake, and Bodie had paid the price in Ray's place.

And now it was worse, and the price had just got higher.

Guilt does marvellous things for a girl's sex life.  Ray left Bodie's bedside every night at the hospital's kicking-out time…and came home with me.

I was stupid enough to think it was just a fling, for both of us.  Something harmless, about comfort and reassurance for him – well, maybe – and fun and good sex for me, but nothing serious; no strings attached.  

He cooked me pasta one evening and talked about his mum.  It was the first time he'd been open with me.  Something inside me curled and cherished the intimacy that led to his ease, while the rest raged at the sensation that this was only the surface.  The realisation scared me, but I didn't listen to it.  

And the closeness was gone the next day.  I saw him at the hospital.  His lip had been split and deep welts circled his wrists as if he'd been tied.  As soon as I entered Bodie's room, they quit talking and lapsed into a hostile silence.  My presence was not welcome.  He saw me looking at the injuries.  I think my concern bothered him.  I left them alone, and the hurt surprised me.  

But again I didn't listen to it.

He wasn't there at the end of my shift and I went home alone.  It was a long, lonely night.

_Drip, drip, drip…_

Bodie was awake when I visited him the next day, sitting up in bed reading a motoring magazine.  He didn't give the open leer he usually gave me, in its place was something muted.  I wondered if Ray had told him about us.

"He's not here, love," he said, guessing why I'd come.  I was right, Ray had said something.

"Just come to see how you are."  My own voice surprised me.  Then I realised what it was:  I sounded cheerful.  I didn't know I could still be cheerful.

Something sparked in those blue eyes, dangerous.  "All the better for seeing you."   His tone wasn't as light as it might have been.  I wasn't the only one pretending to be cheerful.

I flushed under the gaze.  I knew how little Red Riding Hood felt.  

The door opened and Ray entered.  He gave me a big smile, wide and genuine, and I knew everything was OK.  He tossed more magazines at his friend and there was none of the tension from before.  I was welcome and although I knew the conversation would turn serious when I went back to work, I didn't feel hurried into leaving.  It felt good, worth everything that had gone before.

That night Ray and I talked and laughed. He told me more about his sisters and a bit about Bodie.  It was the most relaxed I'd seen him for days.  But he was gone in the morning, but the bed didn't feel empty.  He left his jacket on the bedroom floor and a note on the pillow.  _Good morning_.  It said in a hasty scrawl.

I went to work smiling.  And on my lunch break, I headed up to Bodie's room.  He looked tired and washed out.  I guessed they'd removed the stitches and his stomach had complained.

"Ray about?"  I asked, not bothering with subterfuge.  

"Haven't seen 'im."  His answer was tense.

The door opened and Cowley limped in.  The older man looked at me, eyes sharper than just about anybody I ever met.  His whole demeanour was cold as steel.

"Where's Doyle?"  Bodie's question was sharp, demanding.  The listlessness of before disappeared the instant he saw the older man.  Cowley glanced in my direction and I knew a silent question had been asked.  

Bodie's face softened.  "Get us a cuppa, love?"

I hesitated.  Cowley watched me.  I wanted to stay and hear Cowley's answer.  I could have argued that I was here to play nurse not waitress, but the gentleness of the request got to me.  Nice ones…  They'll do that to you.  

It took me a good ten minutes to get some change and use the vending machine.  When I came back, all the softness was gone from Bodie's face.  He was tense, staring at the IV line like he wanted to rip it out.  His face had paled and the sheets were untidy as if he'd tried to get up.

I put the tea beside his bed, but seeing the tremors chasing through his body, I guessed he felt too ill to drink it.  

Cowley looked at me.  "Thank you, nurse."  He said, "We won't keep you from your duties."

I met Bodie's eyes before I left the room.  Where was Ray?

I tried not to worry for the next few hours.  He came into casualty later on that day, bleeding from a gash in his arm.  He kissed me when he saw me.  I held him.  I needed to hold him.  I think he needed to be held.

He never told me what happened.

I woke up that night, watched him sleep.  And woke up the next to find him wandering my flat, cup of tea in his hand, boxers riding low on his narrow hips, chest bare; he looked hunted.  

"Ray?"

"Sorry.  Did I wake you?"

I shook my head, concerned for him.  And I didn't like the gnawing feeling in my chest.  Not sympathy, but something dangerously close to pain.  Pain at his pain.  

He indicated the television.  "Late night film on in a minute."

Call it nurse's instinct, or a lover's intuition, but I put my arms around him.  "He'll be OK."  I told him.

He looked at me.

"Bodie."  I elaborated.  "He's responding to the drugs.  Should be out by the weekend."

He pulled me closer.  I knew he probably wanted a mindless fuck to push away whatever darkness was bothering him.  If I was any way near the intelligent person I always believed myself to be, I would've just taken him to bed and wrapped him in my body.  But I was stupid…

_Drip, drip, drip…_

I knew he might want sex, but what he needed was to talk.  I'm a good listener…when I love someone enough to do it.  "Wasn't your fault."  I whispered.  "Bodie getting stabbed."

His hands dropped from my waist.  He wasn't stupid.  He knew the choice I'd just made.  "What'd'you know?"

What did I know?  I hated to admit it was very little.  "Bodie doesn't blame you.  That's a pretty good indicator."  I watched him sink into the sofa.  I knelt at his feet.  "You could tell me."

He looked at me.  I could see the tiredness in his eyes and when we'd made love earlier I'd seen a large bruise over his kidney that hadn't been there yesterday.  He'd kissed me before I could ask what happened.

"Not much to tell.  S'part of the job."  

"Then I'd think about changing jobs if I were you."

"Not me though, are you?"  he snapped.  Then he stood up, walked to the window.  "Sorry."  More easy apologies.  He must be used to it.  

I followed him, stopped at his side.  Ray turned to look at me, leaned back against the wall.  

I brushed my fingers against the bruise, the latest mark on his body.  "And this?"

He looked down.  I wondered if he saw the scars the same way I did.  "This? Is that part of the job too?"  My fingers moved to the gash.  "And this?"

"Yeah."  He paused.  "No.  Getting careless."  

I looked up at him, surprised.  "You care, Ray."

"Sometimes I doubt it."

"I've seen it."

He didn't answer.

"What happened today?"

"It's part of-"

"The job, yeah, you said."  I looked at him.  "What job?  Look at you, you're covered in bruises!  What the hell is it you do that causes that?"

There was a pause.  I didn't think he was going to tell me, but then…"CI5," he said, softly.  "I'm in CI5."

It all made sense, the odd hours, the cuts and bruises, what I'd overheard…

Ray turned back to the window.  He seemed to have run out of words.  I wasn't going to get any more from him, not if I didn't push.

Bodie and Cowley's conversation came back to me and I shuddered with new understanding.

"Who was Turner?"  The name came out of my mouth of its own accord.  I had to ask.  I'd seen so much over the last week or so, a fragment here, a bit of information there...  I had to know.

Ray flinched.  And I knew it was over.  I'd crossed the line.  First I'd made him face this conversation, now I questioned him.  I was acting too much like someone who cares. 

_Drip, drip, drip…_

"Dead," he said simply.

He didn't ask how I knew the name.  He probably didn't care, or didn't want to know.  Which amounts to the same thing really, doesn't it?

"He stabbed Bodie, didn't he?"

"Pulled a knife when we went to take him in."  An ugly chuckle creased the last word.  "Probably seen Bruce Lee do it."

I came closer, but the tension I could see in his body kept me from touching him.

"Didn't see it.  Heard Bodie yell."  He pushed his curly hair back with his spread hand.  "Next thing I know Bodie's shovin' me out the way and there's a knife stickin' out of him."  Ray stalked away from the wall.  "You want to know who Turner was?"  He spun round to me and I flinched at the anger I saw on his face.  "Turner was a seventeen year old kid who got in way over his head and he's dead because they trained me to kill!"

I went cold.

He put his face close to mine.  "That's who he was.  And that's who I am." 

I didn't answer.  He waited.  And the silence between us stretched.  

I wish I had spoken.  But there were no words; I had only actions to comfort him with.  That was my role all along, wasn't it?

When I touched him, his flesh was cold.  I ran my fingers over his chest, feeling the goose pimples at the base of the downy hair.  I didn't look at his face.  I didn't want to see the hollowness inside me reflected in his eyes.  

My touches coaxed instinct from him, and kindled the fire inside myself.  But in truth, when we made love, it was empty.  I'd been empty inside for such a long time.

And he was gone in the morning, the sheets cold.  No good morning note this time, just an empty bed.

I'd known it was over, but I didn't expect it to hurt so much.

When I went to work, Bodie was gone too.  He'd checked himself out against the doctor's advice.  Another empty bed.

I knew I wouldn't see either of them again.

But I didn't go home alone.  Someone was waiting for me outside the hospital: battered jeans, crooked smile…the weapon in his hand dark and ugly. 

He said he was looking for Doyle. Wanted him. I stared at the gun in his hand and thought - _me too._

But I had no means to contact Ray.  I never asked where he lived.  Not that I would have told the man if I'd known.  I thought of all those scars on Ray and never wanted to see more.  I remembered the darkness in his eyes.  I can't have Ray and I've nothing to give…except this.

_Drip, drip, drip_… 

I was pretty, the man said as he arranged me on my sofa.  The sofa Ray and I had loved on.  As I lay there, I imagined I could still smell him, hot musk and bitter sweat.

I would be a sacrifice, he told me.  I wanted to tell him that Ray wouldn't care, but the words wouldn't come.  I didn't want to know just how right I was.  Metal glittered in his hand and bit deep.  Somehow the pain felt unreal, as if I was detached from it.  

I couldn't cry.  It would have been better if I'd cried.

And as I watch the flow, it almost feels like release, the letting of everything inside me.

The dripping sounds like a second hand now, ticking away the moments.  There's nothing left; nothing but me, and memories of Ray, nothing but the sacrifice and the slow drip of blood.  

Should have known.  Hearts and tight jeans… Both get old, worn and battered when Doyle is around.

There's warmth now, both in the man's eyes and in my body.  There's peace ahead.  I haven't known peace in such a long time.

I should have known….

The dripping gets louder.  _Tick, tick, tick_…

_Red, red, red_…

I should have known.  He'll be the death of me…

~~Fin~~


End file.
